


though love's whole world on us doth wheel

by wargh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Soulmates AU, but the dysfunctional kind, not really sure how to tag this, there is no actual romance here!! sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargh/pseuds/wargh
Summary: Soulmates AU. There’s Bokuto and Akaashi, who are soulmates, somehow, and there’s Kuroo and Kenma, who aren’t. Now it’s up to Akaashi to fit the pieces together but he’s tired, so tired.





	though love's whole world on us doth wheel

“What we need,” Akaashi says, “is to change the discourse of fate.”

He picks his glass up and takes another sip. Next to him, Bokuto switches from glaring daggers at Kuroo to gaping at Akaashi.

“Oh?” Kuroo looks entirely too amused, and Bokuto’s eyes narrow dangerously as they zero back in on him. Akaashi has never seen him so tense before; he’s nearly vibrating with it. Kozume wraps his small hands around his own cup and peers at Akaashi over the rim. His eyes are disconcerting, blank and staring. Akaashi isn’t sure he’s blinked once since they all sat down.

“No, what we _need_ ,” Bokuto is saying, too loud as always, “is for _you_ to just buzz off and leave us alone! Akaashi doesn’t need you when he already has me!”

“Guess _someone_ didn’t agree,” Kuroo jibes. Akaashi grits his teeth against the tightening of his throat as the thread flickers briefly into visibility, a quick red taunt in the slow afternoon sunlight. And just like the bull, Bokuto grits his teeth and charges at the bait.

Yellow eyes, so unlike the ones he’s used to, track Akaashi’s movements. Akaashi flicks a sugar packet off the table and watches as Kozume’s eyes follow not the drop but his hands.

It occurs to Akaashi that Kozume is frightened of him. Of this power he wields, this net he has accidentally cast over them all.

If only he hadn’t noticed. If only Kuroo—no, Bokuto—hadn’t noticed. If only they hadn’t all grown up being fed saccharine media narratives of the way soulmates were supposed to be. Romantic. Perfect. _Exclusive_.

If only.

He tightens his hold on Bokuto’s hand.

 _I’m sorry_ , he communicates with his gaze, as best as he knows how. Kozume blinks, finally, and gives the slightest nod of acknowledgement.

Under the table a small foot rests carefully against his own, like a new leaf shaken loose from the trees on their way to school, when it was just him and Bokuto learning to make room for each other. Akaashi lowers his eyes to his tea and lets Kozume come to him.

Bokuto and Kuroo are still bickering, Bokuto panicked and indignant and squeezing Akaashi’s fingers in a white-knuckled grip, Kuroo seeming more amused than anything; but when Kozume relaxes, Akaashi notices, Kuroo’s shoulders drop right along with his.

Bokuto’s grip goes abruptly slack. Akaashi’s eyes snap to the side and trace Bokuto’s stunned gaze downwards; Kozume’s foot slips back, just a second too late.

Bokuto slams out of his seat like a thunderstorm. Akaashi trails behind him as quiet and dark as any shadow, rubbing his left thumb slowly over the flickering red loops around his right wrist.

* * *

Bokuto doesn’t look back once as he leads Akaashi inside. Akaashi looks at the back of his stubborn skull and the stiff line of his shoulder blades and sorts through apologies he could give for the things he hasn’t done wrong. He can’t find the words; fights down the wild urge to scream, to cave Bokuto’s stupid head in so he’ll stop looking to Akaashi for all the answers.

The whirring screams of the cicadas outside rattle inside his skull. His shirt is sticking to his back and his hair is limp against the nape of his neck and his throat is dry and he wishes he could just get this conversation over with so he can shower and go home. He wishes he could sleep for a thousand years. He wishes he could go an hour without Bokuto pulling insistently at their connection until Akaashi finally tugs back, like Akaashi might disappear at any moment, like he knows what Akaashi dreams about in the cruel simmering privacy of his solitude.

“Why—” Bokuto starts, still facing the wall of the clubroom, and Akaashi can tell he’s winding up for a tantrum so he cuts him off.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san.”

“Don’t _do_ that,” Bokuto snaps, rounding on him abruptly. Akaashi blinks.

“Don’t treat me like a kid. You’re not sorry, you think I’m being an unreasonable baby when you’re just trying your best to pull things together and I _know_ you are, I know you’re right because you’re always right but can’t I be angry, Akaashi?”

Akaashi doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t.

“No one said it’d be like this,” Bokuto says.

“Everything was supposed to be perfect once we met,” Bokuto says.

“Did you even want a soulmate?” Bokuto says, finally, looking as exhausted as Akaashi feels.

His head hurts too much for diplomacy.

“Want has nothing to do with it, Bokuto-san. This is the way things are, and I’ve accepted them. You should too.”

Watching Bokuto’s face crumble, he thinks that maybe, if ever there was a time to lie to Bokuto Koutarou, this was probably it.

* * *

 

“Tell me about it, Akaashi.” Kuroo says, after. They’re sitting on the bleachers in the Nekoma gym, Kuroo one row up to his left, slouching against the stiff plastic seats. The lengthening shadows creep over the neat lines of the court, and the whole world is a held breath. Summer is almost over.

Akaashi cranes his neck to glance up at him, and the way Kuroo’s eyes catch on the expanse of his throat, go dark and hot for just a second, makes both their breaths stop.

The last slow waves of syrupy sun wash through the windows and light up the senseless tangle of red between them.

—Akaashi turns away and forces his fingers back into motion. Bokuto is probably still pacing in front of the station where Akaashi had left him, and Akaashi can’t remember if he’d brought his jersey today.

“About what, Kuroo-san?” He can feel the eyes on him, even though the entire point of this seating arrangement was that they wouldn’t have to look at each other as they work. Kuroo leans forward, folding his arms atop the back of the seats and cocking his head dangerously close to Akaashi’s own. He holds Akaashi’s gaze and grins, Cheshire-like, razor-sharp; nothing like Bokuto’s oblivious sunshine smiles.

Akaashi feels pinned. He shouldn’t have come here alone.

“Tell me about changing the discourse of fate.”

He’s not in control anymore, if he ever was.

(But that doesn’t mean Kuroo is, either.)

* * *

“You don’t have to believe me,” Kozume says, soft as death, “but I’m glad it was you.”

Akaashi doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent. The park bench is cold with the oncoming winter, and their breath leaves white clouds full of swallowed confessions.

Kozume lets out the barest huff of a sigh and slumps into himself. His shoulder brushes against Akaashi’s, just close enough that it might be an accident. Akaashi leans into him, just enough that it could be an accident.

They breathe together, just like that, until the sun sets and the cats slink out under the falling dark.

* * *

 

Akaashi winces, just a little, when it tugs around his throat. Logically, he knows it’s all in his head. A phantom twinge, the ghost of a sensation that shouldn’t exist. The threads can’t hurt them.

But they do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick exercise inspired by a picture I'm not sure it's polite to link to, considering that I haven't asked the artist for permission. Is mentioning the artist or linking to the original site ok without permission as long as it's not a direct repost of the art? I don't know any online artists personally and I'm not sure about the etiquette involved.
> 
> If anyone is wondering why I'm not updating Operation Friendly Ghost, uuuuuuhhhhhhh romcom machine broke.


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